


Sketches of You

by Diz_Insomnia



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Two years waiting, V's POV, V's route spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-19 00:43:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16130048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diz_Insomnia/pseuds/Diz_Insomnia
Summary: Over the two years of self-discovery, Jihyun not only collected cancelled tickets, but tokens that resonated with your spirit and soul.





	Sketches of You

The first ticket canceled was on your birthday. 

Almost off-hand, Jumin commented on preparations for a small party for you. He did not offer me an invitation; that, perhaps, would constitute pressuring me to return home, which you had agreed together to avoid. I believe my dearest friend simply wanted to remind me of the passing time. Reassurance, maybe, that you were not in limbo, inert, eternally waiting for me. Your spirit would never allow such a life, I knew, but the old fear spoke in my thoughts, those first few months. The dread that I had tainted you, would taint you, lingered. 

Evidence enough that I could not give myself to you. Not then. 

And I would not put you through the cruelty of repeating our first parting, you bristling against the terminal’s chaos as I cradled your trembling hands in mine. Your eyes glimmered with tears that you refused to shed; I knew it was for my sake. In our last moment, I was filled with familiar wonder of your quiet composure. I vowed, then, to only return when I could share with you my own strength, that which you so sincerely believed me capable of. 

You whispered that you wanted to meet the man I yearned to become, because you admired me now, even through my torment, and that you would strive towards your own self-actualization. A road we would walk, separate but in parallel. 

We would meet at the crossroads as equals, then follow the path in a harmonious partnership, filled with bliss and light. 

The next ticket canceled had been after your hospitalization. 

The winter in Korea had been bitterly cold, a stark contrast to my refuge in Bora Bora. The purity of the ocean waves, the open vast sky, the taste of salt and spice on my tongue with each breath: all reminiscent of you, only you, and I strove to capture that essence while painting in my notebook. 

During one of our occasional evening calls, Jumin remarked that, while taking lunch with you, you coughed thrice in a minute over a sixteen-minute span. He assured, unnecessarily, that he would monitor your health. 

Three weeks later, unexpected and unplanned, Jumin had called. That alone suggested a dire circumstance; I spoke to him at once. You were in the emergency room and Jumin, with rare open fury, cast blame on Hyun. The two of you had met for an early morning jog; you kept pace for a quarter kilometer before collapsing. Pneumonia, according to his physician. 

We spoke rarely those two years; I often longed to hear your voice, the same softness when you had hummed to me. A sharp contrast to those rasped words spoken in Hyun’s defense; I could not stop the smile, rueful as it must have been. Your compassion burned brighter than your fever. You blamed no one for the infection, not even yourself, and were content to consider it a matter of unfortunate circumstances. 

After that lunch with Jumin, you had taken his concerns seriously, meeting with his physician and taking his medications. You rested, as instructed, until you woke, restored and renewed. You contacted Hyun for a morning jog. You treasured only this aspect of winter; you loved the silence of a sleeping world and, after being confined for days, you considered a gentle run through swirling snow flurries a celebration. 

But when your strength flagged, breath sparse in your lungs, you stopped and told Hyun, who had been quick to get you to the hospital. You were unconscious when you arrived at the emergency room, but Hyun had been desperately panicked by your condition and insisted, you said with a huff, that he carry you the entire time. 

“It’s just something that happened,” you murmured. “There’s no blame or fault, just variables and unfortunate outcomes.” 

Even with your resolve, I had to ask. 

“Would you like me to come home?” 

“Only when you’re ready.” 

Do you remember much of your hospitalization? You drifted between dreams, murmuring half-thought words from a mind miles away from exhaustion and medication. I positioned my phone so you could hear the waves; when I closed my eyes, I convinced myself that I was with you, your head resting on my thigh as your breath steadied. When you woke, you requested that I read _The Little Mermaid_ to you; in your feverish dreams, you remembered those first days, entangled in a false paradise. 

And reminded me of how far we had come. 

The hospital released you two days later. You recovered and vowed to not take another winter jog without the doctor’s clearance. 

I vowed to take you sailing here, one day, for I knew you would love the island like a second home. 

And so it goes, those two endless years, catching the dewdrops of your days like a wasting man stranded in the desert. I did not go a day without temptation, the whisper that I was ready, all for you, to return home and take you in my arms. In that first scrapbook, did you notice the month of thirteen canceled tickets? It would be more than fair for the travel agency to blacklist me.

But, even so, I would not return to you incomplete; through discovering the shape of my soul, I began perceiving yours, etched in the very spirit of the world. 

I collected little gifts, each another reason to return to you, if only to see your reaction to them sooner. Recipes to indulge your sweet tooth, as well as those for a variety of country breads, that we could learn together. Photos of the places I would share with you, if you allowed me the joy of doing so. When I learned to craft ear wraps of wire and crystal, the first I shaped was for you. Chipped quartz like icebergs that caught light and reflected every color, especially those without names, so similar to you. 

In the photos I took of storming seas, I saw your light and grace and strength in wild arcing lightning. The colorful array of flowers in Denmark spoke of your vivaciousness, the splendor of your heart. I set one book aside for my sketches and paintings meant for you, that would both resonate with your heart and express the depths of my affection for you, for me, and the wonder of life with meaning. The culmination of all that you taught me, showed me. 

And I set another book aside, one I never spoke before. I feared you would be mortified, consider it a trespass, a violation. I traced from my memories the shape of your hands, the curve of your cheek, your eyes and your smile and the pink plush softness of your lips. 

But it’s fair, now, to share it, as you’ve shared your sketches of me. 


End file.
